' ~𝑅𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐶𝑎𝑖𝑛'✓ [RDR2 OC]

Hunters Hunted

A/N: wowow sudden motivation has caused me to want to add a couple more chapters! I've revised the other chapters, too, adding and taking away stuff to make it more accurate. As usual, a thanks for reading. I just love writing down my brain excretions:)

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It was quiet. It had been for the last three or four days. It was quiet around him, anyway. He was surrounded by a bubble of tension. Everyone was too scared to pop. He sat at the edge of camp most days, minding his own business, or protecting it. He felt like he'd cast himself out, and he wouldn't be surprised if Dutch came to him with a tearful farewell and a weeks worth of food to hit the road with.

He'd even taken to talking to the O'Driscoll. Something he thought he'd never hear himself say since they'd basically ruined his livlihood and his sanity. It was getting worse, thoughts fused with imagination, and he found himself recollecting memories days after they'd occurred. Sometimes, he'd stop hearing the outside world altogether and fall into the shawl of his mind.

"Well, I-I mean I don't know too much about that kinda stuff, Mister."

Keiran croaked beside him. Cains eyes dragged upwards, sleepily. When was the last time he slept? He couldn't tell when he was awake or sleeping. Consciousness was a liquid state for him. His thoughts froze, and sometimes just disappeared in the heat of the moment. He must have been talking to the O'Driscoll.

"You're lucky then. How's camp supplies?"

He replied with as much enthusiasm as one would if they were offered a choice of execution. Keiran stared at him, with a look that hence he hadn't even a right to take food from the camp, let alone know if there was any.

"I dunno..why? You gonna head to town?"

Keiran raised his eyebrows at him as he spoke slowly, like he was talking to an unshackled serial killer. The sky was pink. It was early morning. Cain huffed and brought himself up from the campfire.

"I'm going to hunt." He said, as though Keiran would even care.

"Alright, hey, if you manage to find a good spot, er-"

"Yes, I'll let you know if a find a fishin' spot."

He replied swiftly. Keiran rarely had anyone to talk to. That Marybeth often visited him and exchanged quiet words with the poor boy before leaving. But whenever he did talk with Cain, he had an air of terror around him. Cain didn't even look like he could shoot a rabid animal at point blank range anymore, let alone threaten a man for falling into a gang becuase of circumstance, he wasn't much for being a hypocrite.

As he strapped his gun to Eabhár, Charles walked up.

"I heard you're going hunting."

He said simply. He liked Charles. When he first arrived, he was annoyed by how simply he spoke. Now, he understood the logic behind it.

"Yeah, supplies getting low, so, I figured I might as well be put to use."

He urged the conversation to be put to rest quickly, but Charles climbed up on his horse. Cain raised an eyebrow.

"I'll join you." Charles said, not inviting protest. "I'll see if we can find anything to help you while we track."

Cain figured there was no room for arguing, so he urged his horse to lead, as he didn't want the campers to think Charles was finally getting him up and out again. He was going on his own accord. He was making himself better. He was not dependent on outside sources.

The day had a cold breeze with it, and wind wrapped around his head like a snake, biting at his nose and ears. Impossibly, Charles seemed to find tracks in the cold of the morning. He wasn't surprised. If Cain weren't so distant, he probably would have picked up something by now.

Charles got off his horse, so Cain followed suit. He watched Charles pull a bow from his horse. Cain didn't have a bow. He figured he'd let Charles do the shooting then, and he'd skin the animals. He suddenly felt very useless at a day he planned to be useful. It was his own brainiac fault, really, not Charles.

They followed a set of slowly deepened hoove tracks through the brush near Dakota River. Cain heard the sound of hooves from horses clopping along the road behind them. He wanted to turn around and tell the people to bugger off, and take another trail, but the last thing he wanted to do was seem as unstable to a camp member as they already thought he was. Again.

He nearly bumped into Charles as he stopped suddenly and gestured to a stag that was drinking from the river. It seemed slightly wet, so it'd probably fallen in. He backed up from Charles to let him draw comfortably. He took aim, he was as still as a statue, he exhaled as the deer raised its head at the sound of weeds rustling and...
Bang.
Cain's eyes widened as the deer fell, with a brilliant spray of blood trailing into the rivers stream. Charles lowered his bow and looked over to Cain, who seemed just as confused. They waited some moments before Cain tapped Charles on the shoulder.

"I'll take a look."
He whispered cautiously.
Charles made his mouth line with an expression discouraging the idea. Cain nodded, ignoring Charles' warning, heading from the brush. It must've been a poacher, no big deal. He probably ran when he saw he didn't hit the stag in the head.

Cain walked into the rocky shore from the brush they hid in. He knelt to the deer. It's body laboured breaths as blood filled its nostrils. He frowned. He couldn't find it in him to kill it himself. Maybe it'd die in a couple seconds, maybe he should go get Charles. He turned his head and he was met with the end of a pistol barrel.